


first breath after coma (your hand in mine)

by somehowunbroken



Series: tonight, tonight [7]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017 Memorial Cup, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Loss, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: The buzzer sounds. That's it; that's the end.





	first breath after coma (your hand in mine)

**Author's Note:**

> -i'm sorry this took nearly a week, but every time i tried to write for the first few days, i wanted to cry again. so.
> 
> -title is from two songs by explosions in the sky: "[first breath after coma](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0o8JCxjjpM)" and "[your hand in mine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzIK5FaC38w)."

The horn goes off and the Spitfires start celebrating, but all Alex can hear is a buzzing in his ears, static as the world crumples in a little, as their window slams shut on the fingers he's still got clenched around his stick. He feels like he's drifting around aimlessly, not sure where to go or what to do, but he turns and sees Dylan crash to the ice and he's skating, heading for Dylan as fast as he can push his body. One foot, other foot, skate, skate, and he's there, throwing himself at Dylan and wrapping himself around Dylan's stock-still shoulders as the noise breaks back in, raucous and unwelcome.

The rest of the team comes, gathering around, shielding Dylan from the crowd and the other team and the media. There's only so much time they can give him, Alex knows, so he leans down and holds on tighter and whispers, "It's okay, we've got you."

Dylan takes a long, shuddering breath and leans his head against Alex's stomach, and Alex knows that if ever there was a time to cry this is it, but he can't, he can't.

He couldn't win the game for Dylan, but he can do this. He can be the strength that Dylan needs right now.

-0-

It's like moving through a haze: Alex sees the Spitfires starting to congregate for handshakes, he gets Dylan up, he moves them all through the handshake line. One foot, other foot. He can do this.

He blinks and he's in the shower; he blinks again and he's back in his stall, boxers pulled on but nothing else. The locker room is quiet but for the small sounds of people getting dressed, people sniffling but trying not to lose it entirely. The misery is so thick Alex can taste it in the back of his throat, and he brought them back here, got them from the ice to the locker room, but he's at the end of his rope.

"You did good," Coach says, and Alex jerks his head up, flinches a little. Coach looks sad, too, but also still so much like he always does: determined, sure, proud. "You hear me, boys? You did _good_ out there."

Dylan's right next to Alex, and he pulls in a long, shuddering breath. It's loud enough for everyone to hear, breaks and all, but nobody says anything.

"For those of you who'll be back with us next season," Coach goes on quietly, looking around the room, "we'll be back. We'll try again. And for those of you who won't…"

A;ex has to look away; Coach looks like he's at the end of his rope, too, like his voice will be the next to break and they'll see him cry. Alex can't handle that, not tonight.

"For those of you who are going on to bigger and better things," Coach continues after clearing his throat, "I want to say thank you."

The choked-off sound from across the room is Darren. Alex doesn't have to look to know that; he knows everyone in this room as well as he knows himself, maybe better, and he knows what the Mem Cup would've meant to him, his future uncertain as it is.

"You've been incredible players, incredible leaders, and I've watched a lot of you become incredible young men," Coach says. "You've accomplished so much here, and I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of each and every one of you." He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before continuing. "This was one hell of a season, boys. I hope that not too far into the future, you'll all be able to see that and be proud of it."

Alex gropes next to him until he finds Dylan's hand, then holds on for dear life.

-0-

Alex's mom cries on him. Dylan's mom does, too.

They were going to do their family things on their own, like they have after every other game; it's not that their families aren't aware, aren't supportive, but Dylan's mom didn't make the trip to see Alex, and it's the same the other way around. Tonight, though, Dylan doesn't make a move to let go of Alex's hand when they walk out of the locker room, and Alex doesn't really feel like letting him go, either.

"You are one hell of a hockey player," Ryan Strome says to Alex as their families try to help, try to offer comfort that isn't welcome yet, that they don't know how to accept. Ryan has his shit together the most out of everyone, which isn't saying a lot in this group. He's not crying, though, and Alex wishes he had that kind of detachment right now.

"Thanks," he manages, and Ryan nods, gives him a small smile. Alex has never thought Ryan and Dylan looked all that much alike, but he can see the kindness in Ryan's eyes, the drive to say or do some little thing to ease what Alex is going through just that tiny bit, and suddenly he's not sure how he ever thought they were dissimilar.

The family gathering doesn't take long, all told; they're both from hockey families, so everyone understands the need to mourn a loss like this without outside involvement. Alex's mom hugs him and only lets go so she can hug Dylan the same way, and when they pull back so they can head to the hotel, Alex feels a little… not better, not yet. He feels a little less like he can't face the loss, though.

-0-

Dylan doesn't talk when they get up to their room, not that Alex was expecting him to. He knows how to deal with a loss, even if they've never had one quite on this scale before; he always needs some time, though, needs a moment alone in his head to process that it really happened before he can start to get over it.

Alex gives him his space. They all grieve in their own ways.

He strips out of his suit quickly and efficiently, hearing Dylan doing the same on the other side of the room. Alex hangs his clothes up, a habit he got into more because he hates ironing than because he hates the mess, and takes a deep breath.

They lost. Okay.

One step at a time, one foot in front of the other, he makes his way to the bathroom, turning the shower on as hot as he can stand it. It's not usually his preferred method of showering, but he can't deny the way the water makes his sore muscles scream a little bit before they slowly unclench, or the way it makes him feel a little more clean, like the soap and the heat work together to really wash him free of everything.

It's not long before Dylan walks into the shower behind him, and Alex steps out of the water to wrap him in a hug. He's not cold, but he feels that way to Alex; they're pressed together all along their fronts, and Alex shivers a little as Dylan hugs him back and walks them both into the spray of the shower. Dylan's breath is shuddery, echoing around in his ribcage like he can't get it to sit still, and Alex breathes and breathes with him until Dylan's not shaking apart as much.

"Alex," he says, voice raw.

"It's okay, Dylan," Alex says gently, closing his eyes. "It's okay."

"We lost." Dylan _sounds_ lost, like watching the Spitfires celebrate on the ice pulled something from him, like he doesn't know how to get back to true at the moment.

"It's okay," Alex repeats, because it doesn't feel like it right now, but that doesn't make it less right.

Dylan takes a long, deep breath in, and then starts crying.

All Alex can do is hold him and let the warm water wash everything slowly, slowly down the drain.

-0-

"I'm sorry," Dylan whispers later, tangled together in the bed, the lights long since turned off but neither of them approaching sleep. "I'm so sorry."

Alex lets him apologise; it's not Dylan's fault, but it is Dylan's nature. "It's okay," he says instead of trying to express that right now. "We had a hell of a run."

"And now it's done," Dylan says, whispered into Alex's shirt like he's not sure he wants the words to be heard, like if they're let out into the world it makes them too real. Alex has an arm wrapped around Dylan's shoulders, the other hand resting on his hip, so he feels the way it makes Dylan shudder. "Alex."

"I'm coming to play in your dumb road hockey thing this summer," Alex says. He means for it to be comforting, a reminder, but it comes out fierce like a promise. "All-Star Games. All-Star _breaks_." He doesn't know if it's possible to hold Dylan tighter, but he gives it a try anyway. "We've got this."

"Yeah," Dylan says, voice a little distant. It's just how he gets, Alex knows, but he closes his eyes and presses a kiss to Dylan's hair.

"We have time," Alex says when he can make himself pull away. "And then we'll have enough money to make it work during the season, and summers. We're good, Dylan."

Dylan nods, a tiny jerk of a thing against Alex's collarbone, but he holds onto it. They've had the conversation a dozen times before; it's not going to be easy, but it _is_ going to be worth it. They both agreed on it, and Alex feels Dylan relax incrementally, a little bit of the worry oozing back into the darkness. "I really wanted to win," he says quietly.

Alex doesn't smile, even though part of him feels like it. That's a little victory, he guesses. "I know."

"I wanted to win it for the team," Dylan says. "For Darren and Pettit, and for all the younger guys." He hesitates, and when he goes on, it sounds almost like a confession. "I wanted to win it for me."

"You deserved it," Alex says. "Hell, you still deserve it. I'm sorry I couldn't…"

Dylan reaches up and covers Alex's mouth with a hand. "And I wanted to win it for you."

Alex lets go of Dylan's hip so he can reach up and loop his fingers around Dylan's wrist, not to pull him away, but just for that little bit of skin-on-skin contact, the feel of Dylan's pulse strong under Alex's fingertips. He holds on as Dylan's hand slides down to cup his face, as Dylan shifts so he can lean up and kiss Alex softly, as they both maybe start crying a little again.

"I wanted to win it for you," Dylan repeats, resting his forehead against Alex's. Alex isn't sure when they shifted so they were side-by-side, but he's glad of it now, when he can lean in and hide his face against Dylan's neck, when he can grip Dylan's shirt in his hand and just breathe him in, the scent of their shampoo calming him more than he knows how to articulate.

"And I wanted to win it for you," Alex says after a moment, when he's got more of a handle on himself. "More than anything."

"At least we both had our priorities straight," Dylan says, and it's a weak joke, but it makes Alex laugh anyway. It's enough to make Dylan laugh, too. They're both a mess, laughing and crying in equal measure, but Alex thinks—Alex _knows_ they're going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> -the memorial cup tournament is so so so so awful!!!!
> 
> -Give Dylan The Cup
> 
> -thanks for reading along, y'all. i'm sorry i couldn't find the right socks/fic combo for the last game.
> 
> -[follow me on tumblr](http://somehowunbroken.tumblr.com) for... stuff. lots of hockey. probably soon to be yelling about the expansion draft, and then the actual draft, and then free agency. there is no off season in hockey, just player sleep time.


End file.
